


Bad Luck Table

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [20]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: Some projects seem to be cursed from the beginning. Gibbs has one in the kitchen table he needs to build.





	Bad Luck Table

Bad Luck Table.

This story is a bit of a step back, and sort of to the side. Several people have asked me about the table Gibbs is supposed to be building. This is the tale of the Bad Luck Table.

Be careful of the scene breaks; some of them are a couple of hours or days, some of them are a month or more.

I copied a chunk from He’s Good Chapter 4 rather than rewrite it.

Beta by the ever patient Jake and Jordre.

 

<><><><>.

 

Jet felt an odd resistance to his plane, so he stopped to check the board. When he saw what had happened, he swore like the Marine he was. “Damn it. What the fuck is that?” He ran a hand over the board and felt the prick of metal. He squinted at the spot, couldn’t quite make out what it was, then yelled, “Dean, Cos! Come down.”

A voice yelled back, “We’re coming! What’s the panic?”

“No panic. I’m okay. Just come down here.”

The thunder of two large men charging down the stairs made him chuckle, but not for long. “Take a look at this fucker and see if you can figure out what the hell it is.” He moved out of the way and hitched his hip on the work bench while he examined his plane. 

Dean eyed the board for a moment then offered, “Metal. Wire or a nail, I think.”

Cos ran a hand over the board and winced when the object stuck him. “Yeah. Dean, hand me that glass will you?”

Dean handed the magnifying glass to Cos, who used it to examine the object. “Looks like wire. Some idiot must have wrapped some fuckin’ wire around the tree, and then the tree grew over it.” He flipped the board to the raw side and looked at it. “Yeah. See? Here’s the other end. This is FUBAR.”

Jet eyed the planks, then handed Cos the plane. “See if you can’t resharpen that, please. I’ll have someone’s damn head over this.” He went to examine the planks again. 

Cos fingered the plane for a moment then took the blade out of it to examine it more closely. “I don’t think a polish is going to do any good. I’ll try grinding it. You’ll lose some life, but that’s the best I can do.”

Jet nodded. “Okay. Do what you can. I’m going to call the damn lumber yard.” He came back with a disgruntled expression on his face. “The manager said to bring it back and let them look.”

Remy returned from the corner the grinder was in. “No go. If I grind off enough metal to get the nick out, I’ll grind off most of the taper. I’m not wastin’ time on that, as you’ll have lost most of the temper too. You need a new blade.”

Jet snarled, “Well, fuck. I’ll deal tomorrow.”

<><><><>.

Gibbs walked into the lumber yard with a stride and expression that told everyone in the place that he was pissed. Tim followed, trying to look stern. With his baby face it wasn't that easy.

"I'd like to speak to the manager." Gibbs glanced around; he knew the manager and knew he should be in today.

"Sorry, sir. He's not available. Maybe I can help?" The kid looked nervous, as well he might. Gibbs had a reputation in the lumber yard already.

"No; above your pay grade. I need management." He produced a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. "This is a copy, I've still got the original on file." Gibbs flattened the paper on the counter and pointed to a line. "It says, right here ..." he tapped the line with his finger. "that all your wood is x-rayed for metallic inclusions."

The clerk sighed. "I'll get the assistant manager. The manager is dealing with a family emergency today, so that's as good as it gets." He hustled into the back to get the AM.

Mr. Clark wasn't best pleased to be pulled away from his accounts; he was even less pleased when Gibbs dragged him out to the truck to see the slab himself.

Gibbs finished his bitch by saying, "Ruined the blade on my plane too. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

Mr. Clark fingered the board, eyed the inclusion, then said, "I'll replace the wood and the blade. Bring in the ruined blade when you get a chance."

Gibbs, geared for an argument, blinked owlishly for a moment. "Okay, thanks. What about the wood?"

"I'll have to order you another board; we don't keep that quality in stock. Be at least a week. The blade ... come inside and I'll find one for you." He led the way back inside.

It didn't take long to find the blade, wrapped in oil paper on a warehouse shelf, which relieved Remy of the task. The wood went on order over the company net, and that was that.

He spent two hours picking wood, checking grain, and Tim wasn't sure what else. All he knew was, he was shlepping boards to the truck on a regular basis. He didn't mind; he learned a bunch.

<><><><>.

When they got back to GHQ, the rest of the guys came out to help Jet get the lumber downstairs. 

AJ checked to see where Jet wanted the boards, then kept track of what went where. Jet had a logbook in which he noted every board, by his assigned number, what it was, and where it was. He updated it regularly with what he’d used and re-entered leftovers. 

AJ frowned at the numbers, checked them against the invoice, then called up, “Jet! We got a situation.”

Jet came down the stairs, a frown on his face as well. “Yeah. I’m short by about eight fuckin’ feet. I brought out a mahogany board, but it’s missing.” He eyed an oak board. “And I didn’t pick that damn board. It’s too dry. The second I start working it, the fucker’ll splinter. I’ll call the damn lumber yard again.” He got his phone out of its holster and dialed. No one was much surprised that he didn’t use the internal phone book, his memory for numbers was so good that doing it from memory was actually faster than searching his phone book.

He waited while his phone rang, then put it on speaker, just for meanness sake. “Mr. Clark. I got home with a second and eight missing feet of six-by mahogany. You mind tellin’ me what the hell’s goin’ on?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Gibbs. One of the yardmen ... he’s got sticky fingers. He’s been caught ... helping himself to things. I’m calling the police this time, and your wood will be replaced. All you have to do is come in.” Clark sounded sure of himself.

“Yeah, right. Here’s how it goes. I’ll return the dry board at my convenience. You’ll take the charge off my card right now. Both the mahogany and the oak.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the work bench.

Mr. Clark refused at once. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. We don’t give refunds. I’ll be happy to replace anything we’ve billed you for, but no refunds.”

Jet snorted. “Okay, fine. You send someone out here with my stuff, have ‘em pick up this piece of shit board and that blade, and go fuck yourself.”

“Excuse me?” Mr. Clark sounded shocked.

“You heard me. I’ll take my fuckin’ business elsewhere. You’ve sold me seconds twice, and boards with inclusions. Your crap ruined a plane blade that I got from my Dad. I’m fuckin’ done with you.” He hung up before Clark could reply, dropped his phone on a pile of rags and grumbled, “Well, there goes that plan. Someone go out and pick up a table.”

Dean and Cos refused, as they had no idea. Their idea was to move the picnic table in from the patio. They even headed up the stairs to do so before Jet yelled, “You two lugnuts get back down here. That’s an outside table.”

Dean shrugged, “Not if it’s inside.”

Cos snorted, “If Jet says it’s an outside table, it’s an outside table. What sort of inside table do we need?”

Remy frowned, “Somethin’ cheap. We only use it ’til Jet finish the good table.”

Cos shrugged. “Could take the truck an’ go to Goodwill.”

Jet pulled the truck keys out of his pocket and tossed them at Dean. “Go. Do not wreck my damn truck.”

Dean grimaced, “It was only a scrape. An’ I fixed it.” 

Remy smacked him on the shoulder. “Yo’ whine like a girly lil’ bitch.”

“Fuck you.”

“No tanks, yo’ too ugly, wouldn’t fuck you wit’ some’un else’s dick.”

Cos stepped between the two men and poked Remy. “If you two girls are done with your lover’s quarrel?” He waited a moment while they sorted themselves then said, “Well? Dean, come on, let’s get this over with.”

Dean grumbled but followed him up the stairs. 

Jet just sighed and sat down to figure out what he was going to work on until the lumber for the table came in. “I swear ... that’s a bad luck project if there ever was one.”

Remy nodded. “It do seem to be. You have to have mahogany? Maybe a nice oak instead.”

“I have almost enough to make the top slab. All I need is that one board. I’m going to make the legs out of oak and stain them to match. I have enough oak for three legs. That oak board was supposed to be the fourth.” He picked up his log and started flipping the pages. “Well, we all need a gun safe beside our beds or on the dresser.”

Remy thought a moment then agreed. “We do. But everyone needs one. That’s a lot of boxes. And locks. If you’re gonna make ‘em lockable.”

“Not. Just a dump box so they’re out of sight. What’s the use of a lock box? You can’t get into it when you need it. And there’s no kids around to keep out of it. I was thinkin’ a tray for pocket junk too.” He flipped a few more pages then nodded. “I think I’ll do a saw pattern for the top.”

Remy blinked, then asked, “An’ what dat when it home?”

“I’ll cut pieces of plank and glue them together, then re-saw that and glue it again. It looks like inlay but it goes all the way through. If I do it right, I’ll have enough for all the boxes to match.” He mumbled, “Okay, AJ, Cos, Tim, Jimmy, Dean, Ducky and you. Seven boxes...” he mumbled off and started scratching notes on a piece of one by four. “Okay. I’ve got enough stock to do something nice. I think I’ll make myself one too. That way all of us will have something ... significant just to us.”

Remy nodded. “Sound good to me. You need a grunt?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.” Jet pointed. “Hand me down that light board and we’ll get started.”

Remy handed Jet the board he pointed at, then several more in different colors. 

Jet measured, sawed, and glued, then put the stack in a press to let the glue dry. “There. It’ll be at least 24 hours before it’s dry ... more like 36 or more. I think I’ll let it set for 48, just to be sure.”

Remy agreed. “Good idea. You want me to sweep?”

“Please. I’ll clean my tools and put them away, but don’t start sweeping until I dust the workbench off. If you don’t wait, you’ll have to do it again.”

Remy reached out and picked up the soft brush Jet used on the bench. “I’ll just sweep it off on the up an’ down method.”

“The what?” Jet eyed him for a moment then got it. “Oh, yeah. Pick it up, dust under it and put it back down.” He nodded. “That’ll work.”

They talked of this and that as they worked and were soon done with the cleanup. Jet swore once as he knocked over the glue pot, but relaxed as he remembered it was almost empty. 

“I have to get more glue. I usually keep more on hand but ... things do get away from a guy.” He picked up a small tablet and made a list. “Let me see ... Tightbond Extended, sandpaper, hinges, pins ... Should I use dark green or sapphire blue velvet for the linings?”

“How you do?” Remy was always ready to learn something.

“I cut pieces of balsa wood, and you damn well better measure really carefully, then glue the fabric to the wood. You got to miter the corners right, or they’ll look messy. Then you just slide them into position and drop a bit of glue into the crack between the box and the liner; just a drop or two will keep it in place. That way, when the liner wears, you just pop the piece out and replace it.” He added the balsa to his list, then tore the page out of the tablet and stashed it in a pocket.

Remy took exception to that. “Damn it, Jet, why do you even bother? Half the time those lists wind up in the wash machine or in the lint filter on the dryer.”

“Sets it in my memory. I do actually have to look from time to time. Usually when I’m on a hot case and have to shop anyway.” He headed up the stairs, finishing, “I’m starved; what’s to eat?”

Remy shrugged, “No idea. Dean and Cos were gonna pick up somethin’, I tink.”

“Good. I hope they pick up Subway.”

They’d just reached the top of the stairs when there was a crash from outside and some swearing. 

“Looks like the table’s here. We better go help before they hurt themselves.” He ambled toward the garage door with a smirk.

“We betta’ do. They’un’s ‘ull either hurt theyselves or break dat table.” He grunted his amusement and followed Jet.

It didn’t take them long to get the table into the kitchen, put the leaf in and set the chairs around.

“It’s a bit shaky, but it was only forty dollars, and we’ll be takin’ it back as soon as you finish that table.” Dean patted the table.

 

<><><><>.

 

The first indication that the table was less than desirable turned up when Dean put the bags of sandwiches down with a bit of a thump. “There. Food.” He snatched the bags up as the legs splayed out and the leaf fell to the floor. “Well, son of a bitch.”

Gibbs eyed the mess then said, “We’ll eat outside. Then I’ll see about fixin’ that ... thing.”

They settled out at the picnic table on the terrace, putting the bags in the center of the large table. Jet started to hand out sandwiches without looking at what was what; they all liked more or less the same things, so it really didn’t matter.

Dean unwrapped his sandwich, then scowled. “You did tell them no tomatoes?”

Cos nodded. “I did. But I was getting chips and drinks so I just told them to drag it through the garden minus the tomatoes. Guess that dip-wad didn’t understand the word no.”

They all spent a few minutes picking tomatoes off the sandwiches, grumbling about ‘pink’ gas-ripened garbage. 

Smiling, Cos produced another bag. “We got Micky D fries.” He waggled the bag, jerking it away from grabby hands. “No, no. I’ll fix it.” He tore the bag down one side and across the end then flattened it out. He and Jet poured all the fries onto the bag, tossing the containers into the trash. “Ketchup.” A double handful of ketchup packets got dumped from another, smaller bag, and they all dug in.

Remy eyed the filling in his sandwich and announced, “This shop is tight, there’s barely any meat in this damn thing.” He grabbed another sandwich and pulled the top bun off, then he took the bottom off the one he’d taken a bite out of. He put the two together, took a bite and mumbled, ‘Better,’ around a mouthful.

Jet swatted him on the shoulder. “Mouth full.”

Remy chewed then swallowed thickly. “Sorry. But ... seriously ... there’s no damn meat in this chicken ranch thing. Check a few others.”

By now everyone was voicing the same complaint; there was very little meat in any of their sandwiches. Dean actually weighed the meat from his Italian on a powder scale; allowing for the weight of the wax paper, the meat weighed in at just under 2.5 oz total. He shook his head. “Tight ass mother-fuckers.”

No one flinched when AJ, Tim, and Jimmy joined them.

Jet nodded, then asked, “Where’s Ducky?”

“Bridge.” 

Cos grumbled as he fiddled with his sandwich. After it was fixed to suit him, he asked, “How’s that going?”

Jimmy put a bag on the table and started to put the contents on the table, tearing the bag to make a placemat. “Good; he and his partner are in the final rounds.”

Dean laughed then said, “You’d think Ducky would have murdered him by now. He swears that ... what’s-‘is-name trumps his ace at least once a game. Pisses him off something awful. He goes all Scottish”

Everyone laughed at that, as Ducky did have a bad habit of lapsing into a brogue when he was really angry, and he’d use Gaelic words.

Jet nodded. “You should have heard him the time we had to sail the Channel at night ... on the dark of the moon. I needed a translator.”

AJ snickered. “And remember the time NSA tried to take that Marine? I think the one guy understood him. He turned a really off-shade of purple. Thought he was gonna faint.”

More laugher greeted this, but was soon snuffed out as a second round of sandwiches proved to have about the same amount of meat in them. This resulted in a round of curses and sandwich reassembly. 

Jet announced. “No more of this shit. AJ, you’re makin’ the sandwiches from now on. Really?” he eyed something he’d pulled out of his food. “A fuckin’ hair? You’ve got to be kiddin’ me. Gross.”

AJ took the thing from Jet, eyed it and said, “Hair. Really hair. Don’t those fuckers wear nets?” He rummaged in a pocket until he found his phone. “I’m callin’ those idiots. Manager needs to hear this. Or ... I don’t give a fuck.”

The call was short, not that sweet, and ended with AJ saying, “I don’t care. We got shorted on meat, and had a damn hair in one. We’ll never buy there again and do not offer me complimentary any damn thing.” He listened for a moment then barked, “I don’t have to understand a damn thing. I know I got shorted on meat; two and a half ounces isn’t enough for a four-inch, never mind twelve. We bought nearly fifty dollars’ worth of sandwiches from you and we’re all still hungry. You have to understand that feeling cheated doesn’t make us want to come back. Bye.” He shut his phone off and said, “No more Subway.”

Dean frowned, then said, “Well, maybe a different shop?”

AJ shrugged. “Guy said it was company-wide guidelines.”

“Well, fuck.” Dean poked a dismantled sandwich. “I’m hungry.”

Jet snorted. “We’re all still hungry. Cos, go to the store and bring back makin’s.”

Cos nodded. “You got it.”

AJ got up too. “I’ll check for fixin’s ... gimme a sec.” He wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Okay. Onion ... yellow peppers ... pickles ... olives ... cheese ... Oh, hell no. Bring back some good cheddar and swiss ... maybe some pepper jack. And lettuce ... just get a bag of that pre-shredded stuff. And a jar of Dijon mustard ... all Jet has is French’s ... mayo ... Sriracha sauce ... I’ll make some wasabi mayo and some oil-and-vinegar dressing, and we’re good to go.”

While AJ was taking inventory, Dean had been taking up a collection to pay for it all. He stuffed the money into a pocket, snatched up his keys, and trotted out. “I’m gone.” 

Tim announced, “I’m gonna get on line and file a complaint. Not that it’ll do any good, but it’ll make me feel better. Where’s the ticket?” He rummaged in the mess until he found it. He went inside, brushing lettuce off the slip of paper as he went.

Jet pointed. “Someone bring me a garbage bag.” He watched as Tony and Remy both scrambled to get through the sliding glass doors first. As they both had very broad shoulders, they jammed. The bang of a shattering glass door made every one jump.

Jet barked, “Freeze! Do not move!” and they both did exactly that. He moved quickly, pulling the bent frame away from the two men. “Either of you two numbskulls cut?”

Tim’s head popped out of the kitchen. “What the hell?” He saw what was going on and asked, “You need me?”

Jet shook his head. “No, Jimmy’s here if we need him.” 

Mean while, AJ checked Remy while Remy checked him back. Jimmy eye-balled both of them. “No. Don’t think so. I don’t feel anything. Remy?”

Remy shook his head. “No. I’m good. Fuck. Damn it, sorry about the door, Jet.”

Jet whacked him on the shoulder. “Fuck the damn door. I’m just glad no one’s cut. Go buy a new one. Now.”

AJ shrugged. “Okay. Standard French slider?”

“Yeah.”

AJ and Remy left to find a new door, arguing about whose fault the broken door actually was.

Jet went to get a trash can and broom, telling Cos, “You get a garbage bag and ditch that crap, I’ll clean this mess up.” He started sweeping up the bits of glass, tossing the larger pieces into the can as he went. “Glad this shit is safety glass.”

It didn’t take them long to clean up the mess, dispose of the garbage and trash and wonder what to do until food and doors showed up.

Jimmy decided a nap was in order as he’d been on duty all night. NCIS had ruled that an ME had to be on duty 24/7, as there’d been a few problems lately. He was permitted to sleep in Ducky’s office on the pullout there, but he’d been awakened at 0300 to accept a couple of Marines that had managed to kill themselves on base. 

Jet asked, “Ducky trade off with you?”

“Yes, and I’m not much in favor ... he’s not decrepit by any means, but he is 82. He needs more rest.” He wandered off to flop down on the couch and fell asleep within two minutes.

<><><><>.

Tim joined Jet in the basement. “What’s that?”

Jet looked where he was pointing then replied, “The beginning of a box top.”

“Oh. Looks ... interesting. How’s it work?”

So Jet began explaining how to glue pieces of wood together to make a mosaic. “And then ... when I’ve got the design finished, I’ll slice it into slabs to make the top.”

Tim nodded. “I’ve seen some of those boxes. The design, for lack of a better word, goes all the way through. Shame to cover it on the inside.”

“I’m not. The inside top will be finished on both sides. The bottom will be velvet-covered.”

Tim eyed the odd-looking slab. “Okay ... if you say so.”

“I do. Now help me get the clamps off. I have to re-saw this and glue it again.”

Tim helped, mostly by following detailed instructions, and Jet soon had the long piece cut into four equal-length sections and glued again. He put the piece back into the cradle and re-clamped. 

“There. I’m only going to need about a half-inch slab for each top, so that piece is going to be more than enough. I allowed a bit for inadequate glueing and splitting.” 

Tim fingered a piece of board. “What’s this?”

“Cocobolo. I’m thinking about using that to make the boxes. I’ll need a really good board. I like that company for smaller stuff. Very reliable.”

Tim eyed the piece again, noticed the sticker on it and read it. “Wow. This stuff is really expensive. This just a sample?”

“Yeah. I got the whole set ... it’s in that box by your elbow. Didn’t actually cost that much, as they take the price off your first order if it’s over two hundred dollars.”

Tim eyed the box for a moment, then asked, “Mind if I have a look?”

“No. Help yourself. I’m just going to sharpen a couple of chisels. I hit another inclusion with one and the other is just in need of a touchup. I swear, if I find one more piece of shit in a board from Sapphires, I’m taking every inch back.” Jet continued to grumble while he did his touchup. He hated abusing his tools, even by accident.

Tim happily rummaged in the box, looking at the different woods. “Some of this stuff is so pretty.”

Jet nodded. “It is. And, after you get a nice finish on it, it’s even better.”

Tim watched Jet work on the tool. “Doesn’t Remy usually do that?”

“No. I do all the touchup myself. If it needs grinding, he does it. I’m a bit heavy-handed at that.” He eyed the tool then put it back in its place. “Wonder when Dean’s gonna get back. I’m starving.”

“Soon. I just hope AJ and Remy get back at the same time. I’m not that interested in waiting for them.” One of the big rules was, if someone was sent out for something, everyone waited to eat until they were back. In this case it was even more important, AJ was doing the cooking. 

They decided to go back upstairs, wake Jimmy, and deal with a part of the back yard that needed a bit of weeding and cleanup. Jimmy wasn’t that happy to be shaken and took a rather wild swing. It clipped Tim on the shoulder, so he dragged Jimmy off the couch and dropped him on the floor. “Jerk.”

“Bitch. I was sleepin’ good. Asshole.”

“Well, wake up and get going. We’ve got a side garden to weed and a big pile of leaves and sticks that needs bagged.” Jet poked both younger men into motion. They moved, with Jimmy complaining bitterly about his interrupted nap.

Tim bopped him on the shoulder. “Shut up, jerk; you can sleep after we eat. We all will.” He smirked a bit, thinking of a nice nap on a full stomach. “So let’s get this mess cleared up. And we’ll have to help with the door, too.”

<><><><>.

They were happy to find that Cos had already started on the mess; in fact, there was only about ten minutes of work for the four of them. They were nearly done when Dean came home with a truck full of bags. The first thing he did when he came in with the first load was yell, “What the ever-lovin’ fuck? What the hell happened to the damn door?”

He hurried into the back yard. “What’s goin’ on? Who’s ... damn it.” He shook a fist at the laughing men. “That’s right ... yuck it up. No one’s hurt, I take it. So what the fuck happened?” He flopped down on the grass to catch his breath and get his heart rate back to normal. “Can’t leave you idjits alone for a second.”

Tim took it upon himself to explain what had happened right after he left, ending, “So they should be back with a new door soon.”

Cos whimpered softly, remembering the last time they’d had to fix a door at the house. Jet had managed almost to finish the job before AJ had decided to help him. 

Now, AJ was more than competent to do many things; mending anything around the house was a bit problematical. As Jet said, he was good, but his mind tended to wander, and when it did, all sorts of things happened, most of them disastrous. Like the time he’d tried to fix the bathroom sink. It had been running slow, so he’d taken the gooseneck off to see if it was clogged. Only he’d forgotten to put a bucket under it, and had flooded the floor with about two cups of nasty, dirty soap water, plus getting it in his mouth and swallowing it, which had made him vomit all over the floor. 

The closet door had had to be taken down and replaced, as AJ had noticed that the door didn’t close properly, so he’d taken it off, shaved the bottom so it wouldn’t drag, and rehung the door. The only problem was, the door sagged because the screw holes needed to be shimmed, and Jet had gone to the hardware store to get some. 

However, after several incidents like that, Ducky had forbidden him to do anything like repairs again. He said he’d call Jet over. Remy just smacked him on the shoulder and said, “Jinx.” So everyone did their best to keep AJ from ‘fixing’ things. If you wanted something blown up, that was another matter entirely.

So, when AJ and Remy returned with a door, everyone rushed out to make sure that it was the right kind of door and that it would fit. Remy was happy to inform the group that, as the track was not damaged, all they had to do was slot the new door into the tracks and make sure it didn’t bind. 

While they were doing that, AJ made the dressings he’d mentioned. The Sriracha mayo and Wasabi mayo were easy, all he had to do was combine 3/4 cup of mayo with 1/4 cup of Sriracha sauce and mix; Wasabi mayo was just as easy, a cup of mayo and a heaping tablespoon of wasabi powder mixed in a bowl. The oil and vinegar dressing was simply a cup of Extra Virgin Olive Oil, two tablespoons of balsamic vinegar and one of apple cider, a tablespoon of water, a clove of garlic, some oregano and basil, salt, and pepper; dump it all in the blender and whiz. 

While AJ was doing that, Tim and Jimmy chopped or sliced all the fresh ingredients, putting everything in some sort of container. 

Tony got out the panini maker and plugged it in. “There. When that heats, we’ll be eating high off the hog. Should I just go ahead and start toasting?”

Tim eyed the thing then said, “I’d make a few up ahead. I don’t want mine toasted, grilled, whatever you call it. I don’t want my veggies limp.”

Tony snorted and replied, “Pull it apart and stuff it.”

“Yeah? With the kind of cheese you use? Seriously, dude?”

Jimmy interjected, “Not good. The bread shreds. Why can’t you just do the bread? You know, butter it, put two slices together, then toast them?”

AJ nodded. “Good idea. I’ll start a couple.”

He quickly buttered slices of Italian bread on one side, paired them up and put them into the panini press. “Okay, people, let’s eat.”

This brought everyone running, literally, to see what was on the counter. They’d quit trying to put things like this on the table, as there was way too much to fit and still leave comfortable room to put their plates.

Jet eyed the spread and smiled. “Looks good. Roast turkey, roast chicken, roast beef, ham, salami, Bologna, cheddar cheese, Swiss, pepper jack. And half a garden.”

Dean nodded, eyes bright. “And AJ’s toasting some of the bread. If you slap the cheese on quick, it’ll get nice and melty without ruining the veggies. Come on.”

While AJ was putting the toasted bread on a plate, Jet got a phone call. He answered it, saying simply, “Gibbs.” He listened for a moment then barked, “Well, cancel the damn order then. I’m not paying premium prices for seconds.” He snapped the phone closed then grumbled, “Never doing business with that bunch a’ yahoos again. That clerk ... what’s-‘is-name, said that the wood came in, but it’s all seconds, and the top guy said to charge full price. Who the hell does he think he’s foolin’? One look would be enough. I’ll have to place the order with the mail-order place.” 

“Well, that sucks. What is with that?” Jimmy frowned at his sandwich, trying to decide if he wanted onions or not. 

AJ shook his head, put the new batch of toasted bread on the platter then offered, “I swear that damn table is a jinx. Ought to ... do something. What god of wood have you offended anyway?”

Jet just shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Hand me some of that spicy mayo.”

Cos offered. “Maybe you should ... I donno, offer a sacrifice? What would a god of wood want anyway?”

Remy added slaw to his sandwich. “Be a god of the woods and a Greenman ... he want human sacrifice.”

AJ grimaced. “I’m not volunteering.”

Dean agreed saying, “Military rule of survival. Never volunteer for anything, any time, anywhere. Seriously.”

Gibbs nodded. “I volunteered one time. Got blown to hell and gone.”

Everyone moaned at that, Gibbs had told them the story during a drinking spree in which he’d downed several beers and unlocked his usually tightly guarded memories.

AJ griped, “I swear everyone of you idjits has gotten blown up at least once.”

Tim’s indignant, “Not me. Never even ... well, I’ve seen a couple of bombs.”

Jimmy added, “And I haven’t ... and I do not want to. No, nope, and oh, hell no.”

They returned to their sandwiches with Jimmy and Tim having AJ put theirs on the grill.

Most of the group had a good laugh as they tried to pry the halves apart to put in onions, peppers and pickles. Tim didn’t have much luck, making a mess of cheese strings on the counter. He did manage to get his fillings sorted.

Jimmy had better luck as he just piled the veggies on top. He did say, “But I bet I could get it apart with a knife. Surgeon ... see?”

This brought a barrage of waded napkins, bits of lettuce and onion and several groans.

Tim playfully snarled, “Show off.”

They finished making their sandwiches and carried everything out to the picnic table to sit down and eat. They all bitched bitterly about buying from a shop, then having to go out and buy makings to make their own. AJ announced, “No more Subway. Cheap bastards. We’d starve to death or go broke.”

Everyone agreed to that, grumbling a bit but still aware that AJ was right.

 

<><><><>.

 

“So, now what?”

Jet pointed to a medium-sized garden bed. “That needs to be double dug, fertilized, and covered.”

Dean eyed it. “And how’s your back?”

Jet frowned; his bad back and knees were a real sore point with him. He realized, just in time, that Dean wasn’t trying to get one over on him, he was genuinely concerned. “Okay. I’m not lookin’ forward to carrying several hundred pounds of bagged amendments, though.”

AJ poked at his sandwich, pushing an escaping onion back in place. “Don’t need to. We’re all eatin’ out of that, we’ll all help. You wanna set up a bucket brigade or shoulder it?”

Jet thought about that but the idea of handing bags that might burst hand-to-hand wasn’t appealing. “Shoulder carry. We drop a bag in a hand-off and we’ve got a mess.”

“Okay. Where’s the shit?” 

Jet led the way to the side yard where he’d had the palleted bags delivered. There was only one pallet, but it was piled high and shrink-wrapped. 

Cos sighed. “Damn, there must be a million bags. What the hell all is it?”

Tim answered that. “Sand, compost, and dirt. You mix them ... well, you know. We did it before at Ma’mère’s place. We seriously need a cement mixer.”

Jet poked him in the shoulder. “Sorry. We’ll mix it by hand in a wash tub. Let’s get started.” He took out his knife and carefully slit the shrink wrap. “Okay, just grab a couple and go.” He hoisted two bags to one shoulder and headed for the back. “And do not try to out-do each other. I don’t want a bunch of busted bags.”

So they all took one hundred pounds, two bags, at a time and made the number of trips necessary to do the job.

Jet started opening the bags as soon as there were several lying on the ground. He poured the sand, compost, and dirt into the tub and started mixing it. As soon as he had a batch mixed, he dumped it onto the area that was the new bed. It was actually an old bed, but the soil was exhausted, so they were just making it into a raised bed by setting out edging made of compressed wood and resin. The planks were already in place and just waiting for the new soil and plants.

It wasn’t long before the amendments were all poured out into the bed; now came the hard part, mixing them into the exhausted soil. This was done by digging up a shovel full and flipping it over then cutting the shovel through it and doing it again. Over and over. 

It was hard work, but they broke it up by working in threes and changing off after fifteen minutes or so. One man could have done it by himself, but it would have taken all afternoon, and he’d have been exhausted. This way, no one was overtired and they were done in under three hours, much to their satisfaction.

AJ wiped sweat off his forehead and eyed the finished bed. “Okay. That’s done. And, since it’s in the garden plot, I assume that we’re putting in something edible. But ... what?”

Jet handed him the layout he’d worked up. “If you see anything on there that no one will eat, pick something else.”

They handed the paper around, bumping elbows and shoving each other. Dean pushed Remy, who fell into AJ, who bumped Tim. “Hey! Watch the fuck out!” This had Tim zeroing in on Dean, as the cause of his stepping into the newly turned garden bed and leaving a deep footprint.

Dean grabbed Tim around the waist and tossed him into the middle of the grass. Tim hung onto him, with the predictable result that they both wound up rolling around on the grass, each man trying to get a hold on the other. The rest of the Pod gathered around to cheer their chosen man on. 

Tim and Dean wrestled for a bit until Tim got Dean in a choke hold. Dean clapped out then flopped down beside Tim on the grass. “Damn it, dude. You’re gettin’ tough as a well-done steak.”

Tim swatted him. “Thanks ... I think. And who eats well-done steak? Sacrilege.”

Jet agreed. “Only thing a well done-steak is good for is a sacrifice to Zeus. Or maybe Aries.”

They all agreed that only a Philistine would eat well-done steak and headed into the house to wash up.

After that they all settled around the shaky, cheap kitchen table to review the options for the new garden.

Dean offered, “A row of spring greens? Maybe?”

Remy shook his head. “Too late in the season. It’s actually too hot for ‘em. The only ting they’ll do is bolt.”

Jet agreed with that, adding, “And be bitter as gall. But tomatoes, cucumbers, pole beans, squash, corn ... corn takes up way too much footage for my taste, better to go get that at the farmers market. Anyone?”

Cos agreed with Jet saying, “I’d like watermelons too. Maybe put them at the far end?”

Dean vetoed that, making a face and telling him, “Wow, you want well. But that’d take up most of the plot, if not all of it.”

Tim consulted his tablet. “Um ... each plant needs six by six. That’s half the plot. I’d say no on that. Farmers market again.”

Jimmy frowned at the plot diagram. “How about kale? Is it too late for that?”

Tim consulted his tablet again. “No. And brussels sprouts are just about ready to go in the ground. So ...” he put his tablet down and leaned on the table which promptly collapsed into their laps. “Son of a fucking bitch!”

There was more swearing and some thrashing as they tried to get the table back on its legs and off their laps. 

Jet opined. “Damn it, another fuckin’ piece a’ shit I have to maintain. I’m callin’ that company an’ checkin’ up on my wood. It should have been here yesterday. Shit!”

Remy and AJ held the table top up while Jet sat under it and fixed the bent brace, again. He eyed the odd shaped bit and announced, “It’s aluminum, no wonder it bent. They should all be steel, but I’m not spendin’ the cash to get some. Cost more than the table is worth. I’ll make somethin’ out a’ scrap.”

He went to the basement to see what he had while the rest of the pod wandered off on their own concerns. 

Tim went back to Mallard Manor, taking Jimmy with him. Dean went in his truck to visit with Ducky for a bit.

Cos disappeared into his room to read some interesting articles in a journal he subscribed to.

AJ went back outside with Remy to finish weeding the back garden bed.

 

<><><><>.

Jet slapped his phone closed snarling, “Damn it. That was the lumber company. My shipment has disappeared. UPS lost it. I swear this project is cursed.” He eyed the nearly finished trestle for their table. 

This was the bottom of the table; the legs and cross members. He’d had some very nice oak and was contemplating what sort of finish he was going to put on them when the phone rang. He went back to putting the finish on the gun box he was working on. Once this one was finished, he could have a bit of a party and give the boxes he’d made to all his friends. He smiled as he thought about how each person would react. He’d realized, at the last minute, that he’d needed one more box; leaving Abby out of something like this was just not on.

This project had gone a lot better than the cursed table. He’d had just enough cocobolo to make the boxes, and the top slabs had been sawn without a problem. Assembly had taken him the last month or so, but had gone without a hitch. He’d even been able to find the hidden hinges he’d wanted. The bee’s wax and boiled linseed oil polish was just right, and he’d even been able to find the clear white turps he liked. 

Dean, who was just lounging around and keeping out of the way, said, “So ... lost the shipment? Really. What the hell is with this thing?”

Jet shrugged. “Sometimes a project just ... it’s got a curse on it. I had a chair that took two years to finish because everything under the damn sun went wrong with it. This fucker looks to be another.”

<><><><>.

Cos poked his head through the door. “Hey. There’s a truck here from Delany’s Lumber.”

Jet kept himself from throwing his phone by main force of will. “What the hell? I told them I wanted a refund, not more of their crappy wood. And it’s been ... what? two months?”

Cos yelled. “Something like that. Will you please get your ass up here and deal?”

The driver was a bit wide eyed when Jet, Remy, Cos, and Dean confronted him.

“Um ... who wants to sign for this?” He’d never admit that his voice squeaked like a fourteen-year-old. He extended the clipboard toward the group.

Jet eyed it then said, “I’d hang onto that, if I were you. I’m checking every board. If there’s one fuckin’ second or split, you’ll be taking the whole damn mess back.”

He climbed into the truck and started handing out the boards. “You just stack them right here and I’ll check ‘em.” He handed out three oak boards that he considered doubtful, but wanted to examine more closely. The next board caught on a callus, so he turned it over. He got a palmful of splinters and dropped the board. “Son of a fuckin’ bitch. Cocksucker! Damn it.” He jumped down from the truck and nodded to the boards on the ground. “Put ‘em back in the damn truck.”

He shook his hand, spattering the grass with blood. 

Remy grabbed his wrist. “Hol’ still. Damn.” He got a good look at Jet’s hand. “Look like yo grab a han’ ful a’ new split cord wood. We go in. I’ll pick it out an’ clean dat mess up.”

Jet nodded, gripping his splinter-filled hand with the other. “Okay. And you ...” The driver gave him a wide-eyed look. “Get that crap off my lawn. Tell your boss he’s lost my business.”

“Yes, sir.” The driver tossed the boards back onto the truck and scrambled to get into the driver’s seat and drive away.

Remy dragged Jet into the house and up to the master bath without comment, except for some muttered swearing. He got him settled on the small kitchen chair they kept there for just this sort of situation. “Okay, lemme see.”

Jet just extended his hand. It was bloody and Remy could see at least three toothpick-sized splinters sticking out of it. “Well, damn, homme. Ya’ll not gonna like this.”

“No shit. Just get on with it.” Jet grimaced as his hand was really starting to throb. 

There was a shout from downstairs but, since the door was closed, they couldn’t understand. A few seconds later someone tapped on the door. Remy opened it to see Jimmy standing in the hall.

“Man, am I glad to see you. Fix ‘im.” Remy pointed. “I’ll go down to start the grill.”

Jet frowned for a moment then said, “And you better call AJ an’ tell ‘im to bring his stuff. No way am I gonna be grillin’ with this hand. Just you wait an’ see.”

Remy just nodded and trotted off to deal. He was glad that they’d planned the B-B-Q a week ago; Jet wouldn’t cancel at this late date. He did hate it that Jet didn’t feel up to grilling, as he did love it, but he was glad that he, Jet, felt comfortable enough with them to pass the job on.

<><><><>.

Jimmy eyed Jet’s hand with some dismay. “What the fuckin’ hell? You ... gloves, man, just ... wear fuckin’ gloves, damn it.” He got the big first aid box out of the bottom of the towel closet. They kept it behind the clothes basket, as it was way too big to fit anywhere else. “Okay ... forceps ... duct tape ... alcohol ... antibiotic cream ... bandages and ... Is the Tylenol in the medicine cabinet? There’s none in here.”

“Top shelf. But ... not that I’m questioning your expertise ... but duct tape? What the ever lovin’ fuck?” Jet eyed Jimmy a bit doubtfully.

“I’ll have to pull the big splinters out with forceps, but a lot of the smaller ones can just be pulled out with the tape. They’re all going the same way. It’s a lot better than digging ‘em out one at a time.”

Jet just grunted in reply.

Jimmy put the alcohol on the sink surround and turned on the water. “I’ll just rinse the blood off so I can see what I’m doing. Stick your hand in the water.” Jet obeyed and Jimmy watched as the blood rinsed away revealing seven splinters the size of toothpicks and over a dozen more from that size down to nearly hair-fine. “Shit! Okay, from big to little. I think I can get most of them out without having to dig.”

“Great. Just love havin’ shit dug out a’ my skin. Thanks.” Jet shook his head. “Send the damn lumber yard a bill.” He waved his free hand. “I know ... you wouldn’t charge me for anything, but they don’t know that and they deserve to get stuck for this mess.”

Jimmy smirked at him. “You know how much a home visit costs these days?”

“No. An’ I don’t give a damn.” Jet grinned back. “Get on with it, will ya?”

“Okay.” Jimmy poured alcohol over the forceps and Jet’s hand. Jet hissed in a breath as it stung. “Sorry. I’m gonna start now.” He gripped the first large splinter with the forceps and pulled it out. “There.”

“Fuckin’ ow.” The flat tone of voice didn’t fool Jimmy for a second. “I’m sorry. I could put some betadine on it ... if I had some. The fact that all of you forget to put down what you’ve used ...”

Jet interrupted, “I know. Just check it out once a month and make a list. Okay?”

“Sure. Cause I know you’ll forget. I’ll do it on the first Saturday of the month; we’ll be having a thing anyway. Now. Let’s get this finished.” As he’d been picking out the bigger bits as he spoke, this left only the smallest slivers. “I’ll just put a piece of tape on this.” He tore off about six inches of tape and applied it, making sure to go opposite the way the slivers stuck out; in other words from the points to the base. “I’m going to pull it off slowly to get as many as I can on the first try. The rest will have to be dug out with a needle.”

“Really lookin’ forward ta that.” Jet watched as Jimmy peeled the tape off. He examined his hand then gave it back to Jimmy. “Looks like you got ‘em all.”

Jimmy examined Jet’s hand carefully. “Looks like. A dose of peroxide and ...” he poured the liquid over Jet’s hand, making him hiss as it bubbled. “I think ... just leave it uncovered ... and don’t touch anything. If it looks like it’s getting infected, put more cream on it and cover it. But ... what do you think?”

Jet eyed his hand for a moment then said, “Antibiotic cream and a cotton glove. Good compromise, keeps it covered without interfering with use.”

“Okay. You’ve got a glove or you wouldn’t have suggested it. So ... spill.”

“Abby. She took one look at my hands after that last bit of finish work and threw a fit. Got me ... she called ‘em night gloves and a tin of some sticky cream. I used it once so I could tell her I had. I think the gloves and tin are in that drawer.” He pointed to the bottom right hand drawer in the sink surround.

Jimmy fished around for a moment then triumphantly held up a pair of cotton gloves. He smeared antibiotic cream on Jet’s hand then gave him the glove. “Let’s go see if the food’s nearly ready.”

They clattered down the stairs to find Remy coming out of the kitchen to see what the noise was. He just pointed to the kitchen. “Dean and Cos are in there. AJ’s out at the grill with Tim. An’ Miss Abby’s ... um ... un-hexin’ the table. Me? Am not messin’ with that un. Non, elle est folle.” He headed back into the kitchen, muttering in Cajun and shaking his head.

Meanwhile, Abby had duly delivered her famous NoLo Slaw to the kitchen and headed for the basement, huge bag in tow. She announced, “That table is hexed, or cursed, whichever, and I’m gonna fix it. Just you wait an’ see.” She pulled a face at the progress, then sighed. 

Jet had gotten the trestle done and finished. He had about half the top laid out on the main workbench, but it wasn’t assembled; he was still missing just short of half the board feet needed. Abby ran a hand over the boards. “So pretty. And so ... not good.”

She plopped her bag down on the workbench and rummaged around for a bit. “Okay, salt, sage, sweet grass, brazier, charcoal ... match ... match ... fiddle! Where are my matches?” She flinched as Gibbs handed a long lighter over her shoulder.

“This do?”

“Yeah, thanks. And, since you’re here, stand right there.” She pushed Jet into position by his workbench. “I’ll un-hex you too.”

Jet, well aware that it was easier to just let Abby do her thing than to argue and wind up doing it anyway, stood where she put him. “How long will this take? I’m hungry.”

“Not long. And the more you yap, the longer it’ll take.” She opened the salt and started pouring a circle on the floor. “As soon as the ceremony is done you can sweep this up, but don’t dump it in the trash, take it all the way out of the house. I’d dump it in the middle of the street, if I was you.” She finished her circle and put her brazier on the worktable. “Don’t worry about the wood, this ... where is that darn thing?” she rummaged in her bag again. “Ha! There it is.” She triumphantly produced an off-white disk with a metal edge. “Asbestos. So I don’t damage any surface.” She put it down on the wood and set the brazier on top. “Now. This is natural charcoal from a reputable source so ...” she put the charcoal in the brazier and lit it. “It’ll take a bit to get burning good.” 

While they were waiting for the coals to be ready, Abby swept the worktop with a feather fan, chanting, “Out with the bad. In with the good,” much to Jet’s amusement. He managed to contain his smile and only snorted once. “There. I think the coals are ready.” Abby eyed the brazier for a moment then started putting things on the coals. “Okay. Sage and sweet grass. The sage will clear your aura and the atmosphere of negativity; sweet grass is for peace and love. Another way to clear negative energies. Then ...” She chanted, “Air, fire, water, earth. Cleanse, dismiss, dispel.” She added several small bits of rock, saying, “Dragon’s Blood to empower the spell and add protection.” She used her fan to wave the smoke around. “There! That ought to do it. Sweep up the salt.” And with that she trotted up the stairs, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll get my brazier before I leave. Don’t mess with it; it’s too hot.” 

Jet just shook his head, snickered a bit, and swept the floor. He used a dust brush to brush the mess into a dustpan and dumped it all in a garbage bag. He carried it upstairs and right out the back door. The neighbors were doing some remodeling, so he just tossed the bag over the fence and into their dumpster. “Here. Hope Abby’s happy.”

He returned to the patio to find that AJ was just putting the last of the burgers on a platter. “Thank you, AJ. I’m starvin’ here.”

He settled into his seat and eyed the table with appreciation. He’d built this table before Remy, Dean and Cos had moved in, and now his place had wound up being what he called picnic central; or GHQ. It was now covered with platters of cheeseburgers, hotdogs, and bacon. There were also casserole dishes: mac n’ cheese, hot German potato salad, baked beans, and some green-bean thing. Bowls of NoLo Slaw, cold potato salad, and shredded lettuce. All the condiments were in a rack to make it easier to pass them; he’d built it himself so that things like chopped onion, pickles, mayo, ketchup, mustard, and spicy Sriracha mayo were easier to pass. Many people would be surprised to see that there were no sliced tomatoes on the table, but no one in the group liked them on sandwiches, so they didn’t bother. 

Abby watched as everyone made their sandwiches. She had to smile; they all looked so happy. “This is so nice. Good food, good people, fun times. Pass the hotdogs, please.”

Jet noted one absence. “Where’s Ducky this time?”

Abby answered that. “He’s teaching a workshop over at the Hoover building. We ought to save him a burger and some of the German potato salad. He loves it, and it’s not that hard to heat some up in the microwave.”

Jimmy nodded. “And Ducky doesn’t mind it nuked. I’ll put some aside before the horde devours it all.” He got up, went into the kitchen and came back with a container for the burger and a hotdog, and a couple of others which he filled with potato salad and slaw. “There.” 

Ducky’s food was carefully tucked away in the kitchen. 

They spent the next hour eating, drinking the micro-brew beer that AJ brought, going over old cases, new cases, stupid shit perps said, stupid shit witnesses said, and dissing the alphabet. 

Abby told a story on one of the team leads who seemed to think that he could out-Gibbs Gibbs. He’d failed epically. “So there he stood with his dick in his hand, so to speak, and Vance breathing down his neck. I thought he was gonna shit himself. I told him to come back when he found his manners and common sense. Vance is going to issue a memo about harassing the forensic teams to tweak the evidence ... again. I swear.”

There was a general agreement that some investigators didn’t have the sense God gave a Boot. 

<><><><>.

Ducky popped in about 1800 to sit with them. He was very pleased to find that they’d saved him all his favorites. Jet heated his burger and dog on the grill, asking him, “Ducky! You want another slice of cheese on this? Most of it melted off. And bacon. I saved a bit, but do you want it warmed, or what?”

Ducky chuckled as Abby handed him a cup of Earl Grey. “Thank you, my dear. More cheese, and do warm the bacon. Ta ever so.” He settled comfortably and let the young people buzz around, waiting on him. 

Once he was properly settled, Jet stood up and announced, “I’ve got something for everyone. Dean, get that cardboard box out of the laundry room. The one on the dryer.”

Dean got up and trotted in to find the box. He returned quickly with it. “Okay, here you go. What’s in it? Something nice? Or is it ...” he ducked as Jet took a swat at him.

“If you’d shut your pie hole for five seconds, I’d tell ya.” But Jet was smirking, so it was all good. “Here.” He put the box on the patio at his feet and reached in. He pulled out something wrapped in brown paper, looked at a label then said, “Ducky.” He took each wrapped square package out of the box and called a name. 

Everyone held off until the boxes were distributed. Jet nodded, holding his own. “Okay. That’s all.”

Paper flew as everyone ripped into the package revealing the beautifully finished gun boxes. Remy ran his hands over the finish. “Yo done good.” Dean and Cos contented themselves with trotting off to put their boxes away. 

Ducky smiled. “Thank you, Jethro. I do still keep a sidearm beside the bed. This is perfect.”

Abby beamed when she realized that her box was for jewelry; she knew how to use a gun, but didn’t arm herself. “Very pretty. Thank you.” She hopped up to kiss Jet’s cheek, then went out to put her box in her car. Everyone else also went to put their boxes away for safekeeping. 

As they returned they got drinks, snacks, and leftovers. They sat around the patio visiting until nearly dark, then broke the party up.

<><><><>.

It was three days later that the next truck arrived. It was late Saturday, nearly 1700, when the truck pulled up to the front walk. The driver hopped out and walked up to the front door. He rang the bell and waited; the thunder of running footsteps made him step back a bit. It was a good thing he did, as a huge man ran out the door and around the side of the house. He was immediately followed by a shorter, more stocky man who yelled, “Damn it, Remy, you’re a dead man. That was my cake.”

“How the hell was I suppos’ ta know dat. Yo’ name wan’t on it. Tightwad.”

The voices faded away and the driver turned back to the door. A grey-haired man was there, smiling faintly. “Don’t mind them; they’re nuts. What do you want?” He squinted at his shirt. “Frank.”

“I’ve got a delivery for L.J. Gibbs. Sixteen board feet of mahogany 2x6. No idea why, but the note says ‘free’. So ... where do you want it?” 

Gibbs blinked, rubbed his itching palm then said, “This way. I’ll show you where it goes, up to you to get it there.” He walked away, leading the driver into the kitchen, pointed out the basement door and the door to the garage. “Might be easier to get it in through the garage.” 

It only took Frank a few minutes to get the wood into the basement; three huge men helping made a big difference. One of them even explained, “He’s pissed. Got a handful of splinters off the last delivery, which he refused. One of the punctures got a bit infected and had to be drained. Dr J said not to use it for another 48, so he’s like a grizzly bear with a sore ... paw.”

Frank winced. “Sorry about that. There’s been a lot of problems lately. The Boss decided to turn the business over to ... a son, or son-in-law fairly soon, so he’s been putting each one in charge in turn. Not a single one of ‘em has the sense of a ... my daughter would say a flobberworm, whatever that is. This last turn is actually the youngest daughter. She’s got some sense. So. You get this free. And we hope to keep your business.”

The tallest one said, “Talk ta Jet. He’s the one uses all this. An’ he’s flamin’ pissed.”

Frank sighed. “Fifth one this week.” He climbed the stairs like a man condemned, expecting an ass chewing. But when he explained, he was pleasantly surprised when L.J. Gibbs, who seemed to go by Jet, just shrugged and said, “You’re on probation. Make a note. The next time I get shit, you’re done. We good?”

“I hope so, sir. If you’ll sign there,” he pointed to the line, waited while Jet signed then ripped off the top sheet and handed it to him. “Thanks.”

He left and Jet went down to check out the boards. He was very pleased to see that, not only were they prime, the colors matched nicely. That was always a problem with raw boards; if they didn’t come from the same tree, they often were completely different colors.

He ran a hand over the surface of one—his left hand, as his right was still very sore. “Nice.” He wanted to get started, but he was well aware that, if he got caught, whoever caught him would bust him to AJ, and he did not want to be on the mats with a pissed-off AJ. And AJ got very pissed if he abused himself. 

He managed one thing though: he did all the measuring. He had more than enough wood to finish his table now. He wanted to get it done. 

After doing a few more chores, ones that wouldn’t hurt his hand, Jet went back upstairs to watch a movie with Remy and Dean; Cos had reports and journals he had to read, so he’d be in the office. 

<><><><>.

They spent the afternoon watching TV, fighting over the remote in an absent sort of way, and, in general, being lazy. It was all good.

Jimmy came over about 1800, just to check Jet’s hand. He unwrapped the bandage, eyed the scabs, which were already falling off and said, “Well, it looks really good. Just don’t overdo. But I think you can do whatever you want.” He grinned. “I know you’re dyin’ to get to that table, so have at it. Tomorrow.” He dropped the dry bandage into the trash then headed up the stairs. “I’m going to take inventory of your first aid kit. I’ll get whatever you need and bring it over on Monday. I’m on duty at Bethesda ER, filling in for that intern who got shot.”

Everyone winced; a psychotic patient had been brought in with some sort of injury, gotten hold of a gun, and shot the Attending. It was just a flesh wound, so he’d be okay, but he was out for a week. Jimmy, Ducky, and one of the ME’s from DCPD were taking his shifts.

“Okay. See you then. Take care.” Jet examined Jimmy for a moment. “You carrying?”

“I am. There was a bit of trouble, but Director Vance ... informed them that I was accredited and would carry at all times, including in the ER, or I wouldn’t be there at all.” He grinned in a rather mean way, then took himself off to get to his duty station.

Jet went to the basement to do his final measuring and initial cuts. Since he used a Japanese pull saw, he didn’t think it would hurt his hand. It didn’t, and he managed the major cuts without too much effort. He measured everything again, then started matching the boards― he wanted the darkest ones in the middle, shading out to the long edges. He fiddled for a bit, then stood back to examine his results. He was very pleased to see that the boards were nearly the same shade, so it really didn’t make that much difference. And he liked the grain, firm and tight without being brittle.

He eyed the half-board he had left, then realized that it was exactly as long as the width of the table. He mumbled, “Might as well half-saw that and use it on each end, seal the grain.” So he set up his Shopsmith and sawed the board in half lengthwise, set the pieces out to check for fit, and found that, with a little bit of sanding, they were perfect. “Well, that’s that. Might have to sand a bit here and there to get a tight fit but ...” he ambled up the stairs to find coffee.

<><><><>.

Jet worked on the table between cases, movie nights, and afternoons of gardening and ... for God’s sake ... canning. He sanded, smoothed, and measured and remeasured. He checked fit, drilled holes, made shims and cookies himself. When he’d told AJ that he was making cookies, the usual misunderstanding occurred.

“Damn it, Jet, you can’t bake. You want cookies, I’ll bake ‘em. What kind do you want?” AJ prepared himself to bake whatever his friend wanted.

Jet smirked. “Not the eatin’ kind. There’s a way of gluing stuff together that involves bits called cookies because they’re usually oval. You cut a slot, put some glue in it, shove a cookie into it then match up the other piece with slots in it.”

“Isn’t that a shim?” AJ eyed the oval bit of pine Jet was showing him.

“No. This is a shim.” He picked up a wedge of wood. “You cut a slot in the end of a peg, tap this in, then hammer it into a hole. Not comin’ out any time soon. Add a bit of glue to the whole thing and ... done deal. Even you lugnuts couldn’t break it.”

AJ just shrugged. “I give. You need help, just ask. If it’s dumb muscle. You want someone who knows what’s going on ... it’s not me.” He grinned. “Coffee?”

“Please.” Jet went back to cutting and fitting. He was at the last stage, the one where he was going to have to have some help. “And bring back some dumb muscle. Preferably Remy.”

“Okay. You got it.” AJ wandered up the stairs, yelling at Remy that he was wanted in the basement. He poured three mugs of coffee, doctored them to suit, and went back downstairs, followed by Remy. He handed Remy his coffee, put Jet’s near his elbow then settled to sip his own.

“What? We gon’ do som’tin’ fo’ Jet?” Remy eyed the pile of boards with some misgivings.

“Yeah, we’re gonna help him put that table top together.”

“Good. That ol’ table collapse fo’ the las’ time. I’m done wit’ it.” Remy had a very even temperament, but that table was on everyone’s last nerve. You never knew when it would collapse, or one end or the other would sag, putting the whole thing on a slant that left everything on it sliding to the floor.

Jet just pointed. “You know how to put a pipe clamp together, so get that down while I do the matching up.” 

Remy and AJ got out the pipes and put the clamp ends on them while Jet laid out the top. “Ok, what I need you to do is hold the boards in place while I assemble everything. I don’t want the individual boards popping out of place while I put in the next one, and I can’t clamp it because I can’t get the next piece in quickly enough. So ... I’ll put this in place.” He put the first edge board against the stop. “Then I’ll put glue in all the holes and slots.” He efficiently injected glue where it was needed with a syringe-like glue gun. He matched pegs and peg holes, cookies and slots. AJ noticed that one side already had pegs and cookies glued into place. It didn’t take them long to get the top glued and clamped. “There. Hold that in place while I wipe off the excess.” 

He wiped the few oozy spots with a rag, then settled to finish his coffee.

Remy asked, “You wanna flip it and get the other side?” He leaned against a floor jack and drank coffee too.

“No; that’s the bottom. I’ll just sand it off, as I’m leaving it more or less raw.”

Remy grinned. “Looks good already ... and that’s what you call raw?”

AJ agreed, saying, “Looks good to me too. I can’t wait to see what you call finished.” He sighed in appreciation of his coffee.

“Be forty-eight hours before I’m sure the glue is dry; then I have to put on the end caps. I can manage that myself, but we should actually have a table by the weekend.” Jet looked the top over with a satisfied smile. “Okay. More coffee.” 

<><><><>.

Jet finally wiped the last bit of glaze off the gleaming tabletop. “There. Done.” He turned to the stairs and yelled, “Okay, you lugnuts, get down here. Table’s done.”

The thunder of feet greeted this as everyone in the house rushed down to see the table and help get it up to the kitchen.

Dean took one look and said, “Man, you did real good. Beautiful.” He ran a hand over the finish. “Shame some numbnuts will ruin that with some ... goo or other.”

Jet smirked. “It’s an old-fashioned finish. You can’t ruin it. I can lift any stain from blood on up ... or down ... depending on how you look at it. And re-stain anything that bleaches out. Come on, let’s get it up.”

So Remy and AJ took the top, Dean took one side of the trestle legs, and Cos took the other. Jet followed with a handful of pegs, shims, and a leather mallet.

The table was soon put together and settled in its place in the middle of the kitchen. Jet had also made enough chairs so that everyone would have his own. Each chair had a name carefully painted on the back. They settled the chairs around the table.

Jet eyed it for a moment then said, “Great. When’s everyone gettin’ here? I’m hungry.”

This was greeted with moaning, groaning, and a barrage of soft objects. He laughed and ran out into the back yard.

<><><><>.


End file.
